Verbal Prison

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Every day, every single day, I wake up with a heart ache. My mind is thinking about you, and my heart... it is hurting. As if a piece of it has been pulled out.

The piece that I gave to you. It has gone missing. And what meaning is left in life without it? If someone who knows me as well as you do doesn't understand me, what can I expect of someone else.

Why did this happen? Have you thought about it? Probably not. It seems you don't even care. Your reaction, and your behavior in general, makes me feel that all the memories of you and me that I have in my mind are mere figments of my imagination.

It's as if I'm a schizophrenic - I'm forming memories of events that never happened, of love that was never shown to me, of friends who never were.

Or has the world, including you, become amnesic? Selective amnesia, it is, perhaps. The tendency to remember all hate that you've shown and you've been shown and the tendency to forget all love that you've expressed or felt.

But then, does it even matter what it really is? Because irrespective of what it is, the current situation is that I'm dying, and I'm dying alone because you are not with me. And, that you don't even seem concerned.

You are scared I think. Anybody would be. To a layman, a complicated person like me normally appears to be crazy. But then you are a psychology graduate. You should understand, you are supposed to understand - I'm always in control of the devil in me and well-meaning. Can't you see I've never caused you any harm, can't you understand I never will?

You've chosen to go away. I can feel it. Even though you say that you intend to stay. Do you realise you're taking a piece of my heart with you? Or are you trampling it under your foot? Are you doing this intentionally? No, its not possible - you can't do this to me.

It is disheartening that things turned out this way. You were healing the wound that has existed for years now. You just didn't know it. With time I had gotten used to the wound. My smile had become impenetrable, giving no one any kind of access to my heart. Then I told you. That you didn't know how important you are for me, just felt wrong.

And when you came to know, you chose to leave. The wound is open again and it isn't even dressed. It is hurting more than it ever has.
I'm not sure whether I'll survive. All that I wanted from you was to just be there. By my side. No need to say anything or do anything, but just give me the feeling that you are with me, that you care for me.

But you chose not to.
This time it feels like it never has before. I feel weak and beaten. Chances are the wound will win this time and life will give up. Even if I manage to survive, to stay alive, the damages maybe just too much, any chance of a normal life seems impossible.

Arranged marriage - fifty years back, in India, parents used to find
life partners for their children and get them married. It made sense.
The children, in most cases, were in their teens - probably even early
teens. Even if they were not young in age, they were usually dependant
on their parents even at the time they got married as opportunities for
pursuing an occupation different from the parents were limited.